Ambiance
by absolutelycancerous
Summary: She's often a little cautious when her suddenly high-heeled feet are stepping into the Black Room, but there are nights, like tonight, where caution is not her first priority.


She's often a little cautious when her suddenly high-heeled feet are stepping into the Black Room, but there are nights, like tonight, where caution is not her first priority.

His soul smells a little like stale paper and ink, and some other kind of smoky smell Maka doesn't know how to place a name on, almost like a scented smoke, but it's always a rush that hits her in the face when she parts the curtains to step inside, a welcomed sensation. It's never too hot, never too cold, and the candles in their holders glow a little more brightly when she finally steps into sight; a greeting party just for her.

She likes the black dress; likes that Soul fits her in something that makes her look fairly attractive. It clings to all the places she desires, like her waist, and leaves some of her creamy legs exposed, like a trap to the beast. (_She_ likes her ankles, Soul's a filthy liar.) Her hair gets drawn up almost-magically by black ribbons; she'd feel a little silly if it weren't for her bangs being swept to the side by the confines of his mind, and the ends of each pigtail holding a small curl. He seems to know just how he likes her in here, and it makes her smile to wonder what lascivious actions he's been pondering, with her as the star.

Tonight, Soul isn't plucking out notes at the piano—the fall is even placed _down_, surprise, surprise. No, instead, there is another set of curtains out before her, slightly parted, but Maka can make out the dim light coming through the small gap between them. It's not that ugly jazz playing tonight, the skipping, scratchy sound she's used to when they sway a careful waltz together; then again, tonight she's not planning to dance in any way that involves keeping this stiff dress on or even her goddamn heels—damn Soul, damn him!

"What, you shy?"

Maka struggles not to stomp her foot and snarl at him and his mocking tone, manages to keep a smooth, nearly-gliding gate as she makes her way to the red curtains he's lurking behind, smiling when his hand presses over hers when she begins to pull the curtain back, doing it for her and smiling all the while.

It's nice, in a Soul's-got-a-dark-but-lustful-sense-in-decorating kind of way. Last time she complained about being bent over the piano with her hipbones pressing against the fallboard in all the wrong ways, she likes being able to see his face and kissing him, and he promised to make it up to her the next time, which—her luck—is tonight.

What a promise!

There are more of those candles in here, but much less bright than out in the main room, even when she steps inside. The main difference is that there's a pretty large bed before them instead of an expanse of checkerboard tile, with satin-looking covers—of course, red and black, the loser—and even a canopy around it. She's both intrigued with his sense of style and a little flushed from the fact _he's done all this for her_, and it makes her press her hands to her cheeks and smile embarrassedly.

"Okay?" He asks, running burning palms up her arms to rub her shoulders and, _ooh_, she was a goner long before he even started _touching_ her—it's always like this in here, like she can barely control herself, because it's **his** head, after all, he's the one pulling the strings, and certainly all the right ones. Soul kisses feather-light paths down the side of her neck, around the back of her ear and down to her shoulder blade. His lips make her jerk with shivers and writhe hopelessly in his hands; she wants, she _wants_.

"_More_," Maka whispers; she had meant to say "more than okay" but the other words seemed lost in her mouth, unable to roll off her tongue, so the first will do—it means both of what she desires to get across to him, in either case.

She turns around, but Soul's already got the upper-hand, guiding her with his hands on her shoulders to the edge of the bed to lay her back. Maka scrambles up to the pillows, just because she'd rather him be on top of her than down between her legs or anywhere else, really; she wants his chest pressed up against hers while their hips roll in disgusting harmony against one another's—

She notices he's already stripping down; she's excited that she's not the only one aching to touch.

"C'mere and let me do it," she offers, holding out her hands—still _gloved_, no! That needs to be taken care of. She wiggles and worms on the bed, making Soul laugh with her intense expressions of concentration as she contorts herself enough to unzip the back of the dress, quickly whipping her arms out of it and widdling the rest of it down her body, chucking it off as fast as she humanly can before she rolls to sit up and yank him towards her by the belt.

_Mm_, she can see his excitement, the tent in his slacks; she always gets a little flustered when faced with his cock, simply because it's _his_, but the giddiness her own body pumps her full of makes her modesty lose all its holds, because a dick is a dick and _she wants it bad_.

Whilst undoing his pants, she gropes him, grinning when he moans and has to double over her and slap a hand on her shoulder to keep upright as he slides out of his shirt. Maka takes her sweet time, strokes him a little, then slips his belt free, drops it before stroking him again and mouthing him a bit through his pants, then opening his fly and dropping the rest of his clothing—he can take care of his shoes, she's after the part of him aiming heavenward. Licks him softly, bottom-side up, and gives a little laugh when his knees buckle a bit. Leaves wet kisses all around the head of his cock, squeals when he takes the liberty of shoving her back to the sheets with a _pfmt_ against the bed, running his tongue up the center of her chest and up to her ear, leaving marks back down the side of her neck that won't be there when they break resonance—it's a pretty sweet exchange.

She's still got her unmentionables on, and it's a little bit of a sweet thought because at least Soul doesn't always imagine her ass or breasts. However, the modesty is not helping her in this situation, and after a struggle with her heels, Soul decides to aid her, taking one long leg up and kissing at her calf, her ankle, before undoing the buckle on her shoe and dropping it to the floor. It's his turn to take his time, slowly placing her leg down and moving to her only other, kissing up the inside of her leg before getting her other heel off. It shouldn't look at hot as it does, but Soul's making those stupid bedroom eyes at her, putting insane amounts of care and effort into assisting her that it makes her unbelievably wet and impatient, he's just teasing her!

So she yanks off her own panties because he'll just do it in a way that will reduce her to a puddle of nothing but moans and need, and manages to contort herself once more to get her bra undone and slung off the side of the bed; she pants at him, blushing and angry and horny.

"Patience is a virtue," he murmurs while dipping his lips to her neck as he scoots into the apex of her legs that she's left open for him, and that shit-eating grin on his face is about to get knocked the fuck off by her _fist_ if he doesn't—

_Ooh_, he **does**. Teases her with a few rubs of his cock against her folds, and because he's still like a hyper child on Christmas when it comes to actually _sticking it in_, he still has to use his hands (and pull up from her neck to look down between them) to guide himself inside, which results in a number of very loud obscenities from him and stuttered breaths from her, not because it hurts, but because it's always a surprise of a sensation that makes her head spin, good **god**.

And, because this is _his_ mind he's got a good say of how thinks work in here, it's absolutely mind-blowing when he gets himself settled on his forearms right next to her head, and begins to move. Slowly, painfully slow, he grinds as he presses deep into her, puffing little moans against her shoulder as he continues at such a languid pace that does more for her than any quick fuck he's ever given her, she's _already_ rolling her hips up and moaning out hiccups of noises, telling him _please don't stop, please, please!_

Of course, Soul doesn't. Merely continues until he gets her high-pitched and coming _twice_ before he does even once, which involves much more grunting than she usually does, and nearly crushing her to him as he gasps out her name like a desperate call to earth, because his mind has definitely let the vicinity of his skull—he's seeing _stars_ and her incredible face that's smiling tiredly at him, red splotches on her cheeks and her tired hands coming to pull him down for a kiss.

When he moves again (after laying atop her for a good rest until Maka taps his shoulder and explains that he's crushing her, no offense) to roll onto his back beside her, Maka quickly cuddles up to him, maneuvering the silky covers beneath them to drag up over both their naked forms, not because she's embarrassed, but she likes the little things they do, too, like snuggling under the blankets and holding hands in the dark.

She holds him, because _she_ doesn't need to be held (neither does he!) but she certainly like cuddling, anyway. Kisses his shoulder, tells her she loves him, smiles fondly when he mumbles that he loves her too, and allows the smell of his soul to pull her into sleep.


End file.
